ROMEO AND JULIET
That week a noted actress played Juliet several evenings in succession
at the theatre in the neighbouring town. The ladies left adrift
at Eglantine read in the morning paper a glowing report of the
performance. Miss Bedford said she was going; she never missed an
opportunity to see "Romeo and Juliet."
Mr. Laydon, walking in at that moment--they were all in the small
book-room--caught the statement. "Why shouldn't you all go? I have seen
her play it once, but I'd like to see it again." He laughed. "I feel
reckless and I'm going to get up a theatre-party! Mrs. Lane, won't you
go?"
Mrs. Lane shook her head. "My theatre days are over," she said in her
gentle, plaintive voice. "Thank you just the same, Mr. Laydon. But the
others might like to go."
"Miss Bedford--"
"We ought," said Miss Bedford, "by rights to have Mrs. Lane to chaperon
us, but it's Christmas, isn't it?--and everybody's a little mad! Thank
you, Mr. Laydon."
Laydon looked at Francie. "Miss Smythe, won't you come, too?" He had
made a rapid calculation. Yes, it would cost only so much,--they would
go in of course on the street car,--and in order to ask one he would
have to ask all.
Yes, Francie would go, though she was sorry that it was Shakespeare,
and just caught herself in time from saying so. "It will be lovely,"
she said, instead, unemotionally.
Miss Bedford supplied the lacking enthusiasm. "It will be the treat
of the winter! Oh, the Balcony Scene, and where she drinks the
sleeping-draught, and the tomb--" She moved nearer Laydon as she
spoke and managed to convey to him, _sotto voce_, "You mustn't be
extravagant, you generous man! Don't think that you have to ask these
girls just because they are in the room." But she was too late; Laydon
was already asking.
"Miss Goldwell, won't you come, too, to see 'Romeo and Juliet'?"
If she didn't have a headache, Miss Goldwell would be glad to,--"Thank
you, Mr. Laydon."
"Miss Ashendyne, won't you?"
"Yes, thank you."
"I will go at once," said Laydon, "and get the tickets."
In the end, Lily Goldwell went, and Francie Smythe did not. Francie
developed a sore throat that put Mrs. Lane in terror of tonsillitis.
Nothing must go wrong--nobody must get ill while dear Mrs. LeGrand was
away!--it would be madness for Francie to go out. Where "what Mrs.
LeGrand might think" came into it, Mrs. Lane was adamant. Francie
sullenly stayed at home. Lily, for a marvel, didn't have a headache,
and she said she would take her menthol pencil, in case the music
should bring on one.
The four walked down the avenue, beneath the whispering trees. There
was no moon, but the stars shone bright, and it was not cold. Mr.
Laydon and Miss Bedford went a little in front, and Lily and Hagar
followed. They passed through the big gate and, walking down the road
a little way, came to where the road became a street, and, at ten
minutes' interval, a street-car jingled up, reversed, and jingled back
to town again.
On the street-car Miss Bedford and Mr. Laydon were again together, and
Lily and Hagar. Between the two pairs stretched a row of men, several
with the evening newspaper. It was too warm in the car, and Lily,
murmuring something, took out her menthol pencil. Hagar studied the
score of occupants, and the row of advertisements, and the dark night
without the windows. The man next her had a newspaper, and now he began
to talk to an older man beside him.
"The country's doing pretty well, seems to me."
The other grunted. "Isn't anything doing pretty well. I'm getting to be
a Populist."
"Oh, go away! Are you going to the World's Fair?"
"No. There's going to be the biggest panic yet in this country about
one year from now."
"Oh, cheer up! You've been living on Homestead."
"If I have, it's poor living."
Across the aisle a woman was talking about the famine in Russia. "We
are going to try to get up a bazaar and make a little money to send to
get food with. Tolstoy--"
The horse-car jingled, jingled through the night. All the windows
were down; it grew hot and close and crowded. The black night without
pressed alongside, peered through the clouded glass. Within were a
muddy glare and swaying and the mingled breath of people.
Lily sighed. "Don't you ever wish for just a clear Nothing? No pain,
no feeling, no people, no light, no sound, no anything?"
The street-car turned a corner and swayed and jingled into a lighted,
business street, where were Christmas windows and upon the pavement a
Christmas throng. A drug store--a wine and liquor store--a grocery--a
clothing store--a wine and liquor store--a drug store; amber and
crimson, green and blue, broken and restless arrived the lights through
the filmy glass. Laughter and voices of the crowd came with a distant
humming, through which clanged the street-car bell. The car stopped
for passengers, then creaked on again. A workman entered, stood for a
couple of minutes, touching Hagar's skirt, then, a man opposite rising
and leaving the car, sank into the vacant place. Hagar's eyes swept
him dreamily; then, she knew not why, she fell to observing him with
a puzzled, stealthy gaze. He was certainly young, and yet he did not
look so. The lower part of his face was covered by a short soft, dark
beard; he had a battered slouch hat pulled down low; the eyes beneath
were sombre and the face lined. There was a dinner pail at his feet.
He, too, had an evening paper; Hagar saw the headlines of the piece he
was reading: "HOMESTEAD"; and underneath, "STRONG HAND OF THE LAW."
Outside, topaz and ruby and emerald drifted by the windows of a wine
and liquor store.
She knit her brows. Some current in the shoreless sea of mind had
been started, but she could not trace its beginning nor where it led.
Another minute and the car stopped before the theatre.
Within, Laydon manoeuvred, and the end was that if he had Miss Bedford
upon his right, yet he had Hagar upon his left. The orchestra had not
yet begun; the house was dim, people entering, those seated having to
stand up to let the others pass. Once, when this happened, he leaned
toward her until their shoulders touched, until his breath was upon her
cheek. He dared so much as to whisper, "If only we were here, just you
and I, together!"
Every one was seated now, and she looked at the people with their
festal, Christmas air. There was a girl in a box who was like Sylvie,
and nearer yet a grey-haired gentleman with a certain vague resemblance
to her grandfather. Her thought flashed across the dark country, up
the winding, amber-hued river to Gilead Balm. They would have had her
letter yesterday. The shimmer and murmur of the filled theatre were all
about her, but so was Gilead Balm--she tried to hear what they would
be saying there to-night. The music began, and in a moment she was in
a colourful dream. The curtain went up, and here was the hot, sunshiny
street of Verona and all the heady wine of youth and love.
When the curtain fell and the lights brightened, Miss Bedford, after
frantically applauding, claimed Laydon for her own. She had raptures
to impart, criticisms to exchange, knowledge to imbibe. Minutes passed
ere, during a momentary lapse into her programme, Laydon could bend
toward the lady on his left. Did she like it? What did she think of
Juliet?--What did she think of Romeo?--Was it not well-staged?
Hagar did not know whether it were well staged or not. She was eighteen
years old; she had been very seldom to the theatre; she was moving
through a dreamy paradise. She wanted just to sit still and bring it
all back before the inner eye. Despite the fact that he was her lover,
she was not sorry when Laydon must turn to the lady on his right. When
Lily spoke to her, she said, "Don't let's talk. Let's sit still and see
it all again." Lily agreed. She was no chatterbox herself. The music
played; the lights in the house were lowered; up, slowly, gently, went
the curtain; here was the orchard of the Capulets.
The great concave of the theatre was dim. Laydon's hand sought
Hagar's, found it in the semi-darkness, held it throughout the act.
She acquiesced; and yet--and yet--She did not wish him to fondle her
hand, nor yet, as once or twice he did, to whisper to her. She wished
to listen, listen. She was in Verona, not here.
The act closed. The lights went up, Laydon softly withdrew his hand. He
applauded loudly, all the house applauded. Hagar hated the clapping,
not experienced enough to know how breath-of-life it was to the people
behind the curtain. Already the curtain was rising for Juliet to come
forth and bow, and then for Juliet to bring forth Romeo, and both to
bow. Had she known, she would have applauded, too; she was a kindly
child. The curtain was down now, the house rustling. All around was
talking; people seemed never to wish to be quiet. Laydon was talking,
too, answering Miss Bedford's artful-artless queries, embarking on a
commentary upon act and actors. He talked with a conscious brilliance
as became a professor of Belles-Lettres, more especially for Hagar's
delight, but aware also that the people directly in front and behind
were listening. Was Hagar delighted? Very slowly and insidiously, like
a slender serpent stealing into some Happy Valley, there came into her
heart a distaste for commentaries. As the valley might be ignorant of
the serpent, so neither did she know what was the matter; she was only
not so mystically happy as she had been before.
The orchestra came back, there was a murmur of expectation, Laydon
ceased to discourse of Bandello, and of Dante's reference to Montague
and Capulet. Lily, on the other side of Hagar, complained of the heat
and the music. "I like stringed instruments, but those great brass
horns make the back of my head hurt so."
Hagar touched her cold, little hand. "Poor Lily! I wish you didn't feel
badly all the time! I wish you liked the horns."
The curtain rose, the play rolled on. Mercutio was slain,--Mercutio and
Tybalt,--Romeo was banished. The scene changed, and here was the great
window of Juliet's room--the rope ladder--the envious East.
"_Night's candles are burned out and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops;
I must be gone and live, or stay and die_--"
Hagar sat, bent forward, her eyes dark and wide, the wine-red in her
cheeks. When the curtain went down she did not move; Laydon, under
cover of the loud applause, spoke to her twice before she attended. Her
eyes came back from a long way off, her mind turned with difficulty.
"Yes? What is it?" Laydon was easily aggrieved. "You are thinking more
of this wretched play," he whispered, "than you are of me!"
On rolled the swift events, gorgeous and swift as shadows. The
curtain fell, the curtain rose. The potion was drunk--the wailing
was made--Balthasar rode to warn Romeo. There came the last act: the
poison--County Paris--the Tomb--
"_Here will I set up my everlasting rest_--"
It was over.... She helped Lily with her red evening cloak, she found
Miss Bedford's striped silk bag that Laydon could not find; they all
passed out of the house of enchantments. Here was the night, and the
night wind, and broken lights and carriages, and a clamour of voices,
and at last the clanging street-car with a great freight of talking
people. She wanted to sit still and dream it over--and fortunately
Laydon was again occupied with Miss Bedford.
"You liked it, didn't you?" asked Lily. "I think that you like things
that you imagine better than you like things that you do."
Hagar looked at her with eyes that were yet wide and fixed. "I don't
know. If you could be and do all that you can imagine--but you
can't--you can't--" she smiled and rubbed her hand across her eyes--
"and it's a tragedy."
When they left the street-car and walked toward the Eglantine gates,
it was drawing toward midnight. Laydon and Hagar now moved side by
side through the darkness. Lily--who said that her head had ached very
little, thank you!--exchanged comments on the play with Miss Bedford.
Laydon held the gate open; then, closing it, fell a few feet behind
with Hagar. "You enjoyed it?"
"Oh--"
He was again in love. "The plays we'll see together, darling, darling!
'Two souls with but a single thought--'"
"There is no need to walk so fast," said Miss Bedford. "Oh, Mr. Laydon,
a briar has caught my skirt--Will you--? Oh, thank you!"
The house showed before them. "The parlour windows are lighted," said
Lily. "Mrs. Lane must have company."
Mrs. Lane did have company. She herself opened the front door to them.
Mrs. Lane's eyes were red, and she looked frightened. "Wait," she said,
and got between the little group and the parlour door. "Lily, you had
best go straight upstairs, my dear! Miss Bedford, will you please wait
here with me just a minute? Mr. Laydon, Mrs. LeGrand says will you come
into the parlour? Hagar, you are to go, too. Your grandfather is here."
Colonel Ashendyne stood between the table and the fire. Mrs. LeGrand
was seated upon the sofa, which meant that she sat in state. Mrs. Lane,
who came presently stealing in again, sat back from the centre in a
meek, small chair, and at intervals wiped her eyes. The culprits stood.
Colonel Argall Ashendyne never lacked words with which to express his
meaning--words that bit. Now his well-cut lips opened, and out there
came like a scimitar his part of the ensuing conversation.
"Hagar, your letter was read yesterday evening. I immediately
telegraphed to Mrs. LeGrand at Idlewood, and she obligingly took this
morning's boat. I myself came down on the afternoon train, and got here
two hours ago. Now, sir--" he turned on Laydon--"what have you got to
say for yourself?"
"I--I--" began Laydon. He drew a breath and his spine stiffened. "I
have to say, sir, that I love your granddaughter, and that I have asked
her to marry me."
Mrs. LeGrand, while the colonel's hawk eye dwelt witheringly, spoke
from the sofa. "I have no words, Mr. Laydon, in which to express
my disapproval of your action, or my disappointment in one whom I
had supposed a gentleman. In my absence you have chosen to abuse my
confidence and to do a most dishonourable and ungentlemanly thing--a
thing which, were it known, might easily bring disrepute upon
Eglantine. You will understand, of course, that it terminates your
connection with this school--"
"Mrs. LeGrand," said Laydon, "I have done nothing dishonourable."
"You have taken advantage of my absence, sir, to make love to one of my
pupils--"
"To an inexperienced child, sir," said the Colonel;--"too young to know
better or to tell pinchbeck when she sees it! You should be caned."
"Colonel Ashendyne, if you were a younger man--"
"Bah!" said the Colonel. "I am younger now and more real than
you!--Hagar!"
"Yes, grandfather."
"Come here!"
Hagar came. The Colonel laid his hands upon her shoulders, a little
roughly, but not too roughly. The two looked each other in the eyes.
He was tall and she but of medium height, she was young and he was her
elder, he was ancestor and she descendant, he was her supporter and she
his dependant, he was grandfather and she was grandchild. Gilead Balm
had always inculcated reverence for dominant kin and family authority.
It had been Gilead Balm's grievance, long ago, against her mother
that she recognized that so poorly.... But Hagar had always seemed to
recognize it. "Gipsy," said the Colonel now, "I am not going to be
hard upon you. It's the nature of the young to be foolish, and a young
girl may be pardoned anything short of the irrecoverable. All that I
want you to do is to see that you have been very foolish and to say as
much to this--this gentleman. Simply turn round and say to him 'Mr.--'
What's his name?--Layton?"
"I wrote to you day before yesterday, Colonel Ashendyne," said Laydon.
"You saw my name there--"
"I never got your letter, sir! I got hers.--Hagar! say after me to this
gentleman, 'Sir, I was mistaken in my sentiment toward you, and I here
and now release you from any fancied engagement between us.'--Say it!"
As he spoke, he wheeled her so that she faced Laydon. She stood, a
scarlet in her cheeks, her eyes dark, deep, and angry. "Hagar!" cried
Laydon, maddened, too, "are you going to say that?"
"No," answered Hagar. "No, I am not going to say it! I have done
nothing wrong nor underhand, and neither have you! Mrs. LeGrand knew
that you were coming here, in the evening, to read to us. Why shouldn't
you come? Well, one evening you were reading and I was listening, and
I was not thinking of you and you were not thinking of me. And then,
suddenly, something--Love--came into this room and took us prisoner. We
did not ask him here, we did not know anything.... But when it happened
we knew it, and next morning, out in the open air, we told each other
about it. Nothing could have kept us from doing that, and nothing had
a right to keep us from it! Nothing!--And that very night I wrote to
you, grandfather--and he wrote.... If I am mistaken I am mistaken, but
I will find it out for myself!" She twisted herself in the Colonel's
grasp until she faced him. "You say that you are real--Well, I am real
too! I am as real as you are!"
The Colonel's fine, bony hands closed upon her shoulders until she
caught her breath with the pain. The water rushed to her eyes, but
she kept it from over-brimming. "Don't cry!" said a voice within her.
"Whatever you do, don't cry!" It was like her mother's voice, and she
answered instantly. Colonel Ashendyne, his lips white beneath his grey
mustache, shook her violently, so violently that, pushed from her
footing, she stumbled and sank to her knee.
Laydon came up with clenched fists and the colour gone from his face.
"Let her go, damn you!--"
Mrs. Lane uttered a faint cry and Mrs. LeGrand rose from the sofa.